


Christmas on the Hudson

by tenderisthedawn



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Ambiguity, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, TT, Theo POV, boris feels a little bit ooc im sorry, goldfic, poetry references, repressed theo decker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 16:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderisthedawn/pseuds/tenderisthedawn
Summary: I see people in the streets, buying presents and the lights illuminating everything, creating auras; a luminosity that makes me long for something unknown.And in that shining motion, golden dots and red and green, I saw nothing, I felt nothing
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. Seasonal dread

**Author's Note:**

> Part two coming soon!

Ever since my mother died, Christmas has been a nonexistent holiday.  
I see people in the streets, buying presents and the lights illuminating everything, creating auras; a luminosity that makes me long for something unknown. And in that shining motion, golden dots and red and green, I saw nothing, I felt nothing.  
I, anyway, helped Hobie decorating our Christmas tree each and every year. We had a pretty established routine that consisted of me making some tea and Hobie would go to his room and get, from deep in his closet, a big box full of Christmas decorations. It was simple and not big of a deal, inertial almost.

The dinner part as well; sometimes we would go out for something nice and then go back to our lives (there was a time, I was 18 if I'm not mistaken, Hobie left, ‘inevitable’ he had said, and I found myself alone, eating canned soup with Popper).  
I doubt a thing can change since my holidays are just another day on the calendar. I don’t get many gifts and, Hobie tries to keep everything low-key. We function as we always have and I exist that way.  
I don’t really think there is something wrong with spending the holidays that way, it is just that after my mother died, celebrating such made no sense to me.

Although being with Boris, Las Vegas, a dinner and celebration, I could say that I was happy at that moment, eating the most expensive dishes and feeling our bellies so big and full, the joy you can only feel when you’re around the ones you love ( definitely not my case, at least with dad and Xandra). But I felt happiness, I dare to say, and ever since then, I haven’t felt quite the same joy, not even with Hobie.  
So Inevitably when December comes around I feel the itching in me and I just want to get over it, the month to end and keep on moving, is the exact way every year.

Though I stop myself sometimes, when I’m out running some errands, and I see people, families, little kids wearing big scarves and their parents watching over them, buying presents. At that moment I feel the same weight over my shoulders, the one I’ve been carrying since I was 13, the dread I’ve buried deep inside.  
It does not help I keep seeing my mom in every corner, and the fact that I can perfectly hear her voice calling my name, ever so softly. She’s in every corner. She’s part of the city now.

*

Even if my thoughts are loud enough to distract me, I put an end to every task and errand and I go home with the sweet satisfaction of productiveness. 

When I opened the door that day, I saw Hobie and a bunch of letters waiting for me, maybe three of them, one from Pippa (which I gladly took in my hands and I stared at it for a good minute before putting it in my pocket), another for Ms. Barbour (old fashioned, elegant as always, I kept that letter safe too) and lastly a tinnier envelope that quickly grabbed my attention, since I was not expecting anything else.  
The pale blue envelope, mysterious as it was made me drop everything else I needed to get done that evening and I ran upstairs to give it a read. As I opened it, my hands trembled at the mere thought of it being a letter from Boris. Which, no surprise, it actually was.

I had spent years without seeing him, since Amsterdam, since Antwerp and the promise I made, half-sleep, half-conscious. Our friendship, reinforced by the painting and everything Boris did to keep it safe, back into the world. Nevertheless, we did not keep in touch, our lifestyles way too different to even think of a reunion, I was living and working in New York while Boris had a family and “business” all over the world.

“I’m going back to Russian for a while” was one of the last things he said to me, still in Antwerp, in his artist loft. I remember so diaphanous in my mind; Boris hesitantly, walking towards me as I was closing my briefcase.

“Oh? I thought you said you didn’t like it” 

“Yes, I don’t really like it. The weather? Pain in the ass, but some work has to be done. You know how it is. Plus, Gyuri’s got a nice place in St. Petersburg, so nice and clean. Mostly unoccupied, many rooms too.”

“I see” I replied. He was still, next to me throwing some glances at my briefcase.

If his intention at that moment was for me to drop everything and go with him to St. Petersburg, I did not follow. He didn’t push it and awkward silence, we went to the front door to wait for my cab.  
Very reminiscent of teen me running away, we did not comment of course but I could have sworn that we both felt a strong dejavú. 

And since that moment, several months have passed and we have not seen each other again.  
So opening the blue envelope with a B in it was something I did not think twice.  
It wasn’t a long missive, fitting the size of the envelope I have guessed. In messy handwriting that exposed Boris as the author, it read:

“ I’m visiting New York Christmas week.

See you around? For the old times.

–Boris”

So much was wrong with that letter and I could enlist all the reasons, but as tired as I was, I didn’t. Boris coming over for Christmas? Was that a possibility? Definitely not in my world, the little environment I shared with Hobie and sometimes Pippa, old Popper and occasionally Ms. Barbour. I didn’t do much during Holidays which was fine, and I knew Boris wasn’t so festive himself although food and pompous dinners were something Boris was unquestionably drawn to.

I gave up.

I didn’t share this new information with Hobie although I knew well enough he was going to find out, once I elope somewhere with Boris. Elope he had called it, the time I ran away from my engagement party, and I cannot blame him, seriously, the way I carelessly abandoned the party and my soon to be wife, all that to leave alongside a man. 

As Christmas week was approaching I felt something between anticipation and anxiety. I would’ve lied if I said I didn’t want to see him. Despite the awkward last night in Antwerp, we stand in good terms, as friends. What was the harm in spending a couple of days with an old friend? But it was weird nevertheless as it wasn’t so on-brand for Boris to send a letter all the way from Russia.

Not putting so much thought on it I made myself comfortable with everything else happening in my day to day life, working with Hobie, my regular schedule, all in order, as the good citizen I claimed to be. If Hobie asked about Christmas I would say, a little bit nervous, but unnoticeable, that we would do our thing, like always.

It was the 20th, I was barely awake when my phone ringing woke me up completely, I never got calls early in the morning, if a client was reaching out, I would probably expect the call in the afternoon, not this early. Though tired, I answered. My voice was still husky and full of sleep.

“Hello”

“Potter, there you are. Tried to reach out before but timing is bad, very bad I’m still feeling the jet lag, but I’m happy you answered “

“Where are you?” I hated how desperate I must sound to him.

“Can’t bother and say ´I’m happy too, Boris?´ How cold, you. Americans all business and no time for friends coming over during the holidays” He was joking but the last part hit me, somehow.

“What”

“You didn’t get my letter?”

“I did.” Of course, I did, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

“Then don’t act all surprised, and give me your address because this hotel sucks, yes?”


	2. Most merry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. I'm sorry for updating this late but as funny as it is, Christmas fever made me not write a Christmas fic. But now it's done, this is the last chapter I hope you enjoy this piece, happy new year!

All my life, my heart has yearned

For a thing, I cannot name

––Silvia Plath   
*  
I didn’t give him the address of Hobart and Blackwell because I couldn’t deal with him near Hobie, I wasn’t mentally prepared for some reunion and “hi this is Boris, my…friend?”.  
Instead, Boris and I decided to meet outside a coffee shop in East Village, I didn’t know the place myself so it was safe.   
The morning was cold and as I stepped outside to walk towards our meeting place I regretted enormously not wearing a warmer jacket or some gloves.  
The café, in terms of decoration, was following the rules of Christmas( I supposed); little fairy lights brightening the obnubilated inside, the cloudy morning created such an atmosphere.   
I made my way into the coffee shop and I waited. Deep in my thoughts, I knew what to say to Boris when he walked through the door. What was he doing in New York?, why meeting me if we parted ways in Europe, the silent agreement of never seeing each other again, never reaching out, living our lives naturally and keeping the painting and each other in our memories, maybe as a reminder, of what? That life is full of betrayal, love, mistakes, and hope.   
I lost my train of thought the moment I saw Boris, same mess and recklessness materialized, the face of nostalgia. He was wearing a long black coat, looking expensive I noticed his hair a little bit longer than I remembered. Standing there, Boris, alienated as if he belonged to a different realm and some wrinkled in time-space had opened and brought him to New York.  
He saw me inside the coffee place and with half a smile he approached me, like saying “You came”  
I was the first to say a word, afraid I would stand there, and he too, and we would’ve held each other’s gaze, without realizing we were surrounded by couples and old ladies having their morning beverage.   
“Boris”

“That’s my name” couldn’t suppress the smile on my face, I was weak, I believe.

“What are you doing here, all of a sudden” It wasn’t precisely a lie. Yes, he sent a letter but even that one was random. Not to mention the early phone call.

“Just business in America, that’s all. I wanted to check on you…see my friend again, after what? Months? A year! Time flies, Christmas season here is the real deal, no? I see lights and all you little capitalists buying presents and fucking the environment getting real trees to decorate your living room for the winter, ridiculous if you ask me. Never had a Christmas tree, but if I had one I’d make sure it isn’t as ugly as the ones I’ve seen while I was walking towards here”

I didn’t know how to reply to the monologues Boris liked to name as answers, conversation starters, ice breakers, and so on. 

*  
We had our drinks ready and decided to leave the place, Boris, as cheerful and talkative as he always was, didn’t fancy being surrounded, he felt trapped in a way, and at this, we were the same.  
We were walking without a destination, the weather cold, but bearable with a nice jacket or coat on.  
“So this is just a casualty because you’re working here “

“Yes, and my hotel room sucks. I mean I paid a lot for that suite but it looks cheap and room service is the worst. The vegan options? Better not to eat them.”

“Are you a vegan now?” I snorted at that and he seemed offended. 

“No, but it’s fun to try new things on the menu.” 

I didn’t know how to carry the conversation, the trivial things I could bring up, I had already said when we were waiting for our coffees.  
So after a while, only our breathing was audible and we were walking through the sea of people in Christmas hurry. For a moment it seemed like we were complete strangers and our destinations weren’t the same, that we, both travelers, happened to be following the same route, and eventually, we would break apart.  
But we didn’t and after a while, we were walking close to each other again and I just suggested the first thing I thought of.

“Let’s get a drink, It’s been a while”  
*  
As early as it was we found a bar that kept us in place for a while, we drank and laughed and I felt like a teen, fearing no one and almost forgetting the time, the place, all my mind was focused on was Boris’s hands on the table, close to mine, while waiting for another round of shots.  
At this moment the conversation was following Boris’s various episodes in Russia and how he got away. We were drunk already and every word coming out of our mouths made us laugh even louder, which was, more than okay. By the time we were feeling our last drinks, Boris, in a nonchalant manner, dropped the following;  
“What are you gonna do on Christmas Day? 

I hesitated a little before responding, with the truth.

“I don’t do much, me and Hobie have some dinner at home and that’s about it. Why?”  
The question was really rhetorical because I knew where he was coming from.

“Because I just remembered Christmas dinner in Vegas, do you? So much food, I was about to explode but that was a good day. And I’m here now like I said my hotel room sucks and… It’s silly to celebrate but I’d like to thank you, this time, for not running away.”

I knew he meant the last time in Antwerp and the way I deliberately declined his proposition. But I didn’t know he was so hurt by that, that the mere act of meeting him in New York after a year apart was good enough to throw a party. Metaphorically, in the form of a Christmas dinner.  
I knew, too, that Boris was fond of food, and the same as me, he was a nostalgic soul.   
(I have discovered that years back, both in the vexing desert, talking by the pool.)  
So I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to indulge, at least for a couple of hours and share food and drinks with Boris. This was beyond any religious meaning or social tradition-routine, it was plausible for me and Boris to, after dreadful episodes in the unknown, have a Christmas dinner. Maybe nostalgia was playing with us, too much I think.

“If I say yes… can we just keep this low-key” I said what I was thinking, and Boris furrowed his brows, suspicious?

“Potter, we are having dinner not getting married”

I was the first to laugh, and then we left the bar.

*  
The next days went by in a mix of hallucinations and headaches, trying to figure out a way to explain Hobie the whole thing, but also buying myriad options to the actual dinner dishes, vegetables and species we didn’t have, even some drinks I unconsciously bought thinking Boris would like them.   
As I was deciding whether to buy another bottle of almond milk Hobie stopped by the kitchen and approached me.  
“What is all this for?”  
I didn’t reply right away as I was oblivious to the disaster that surrounded me; a kitchen nightmare, the groceries, and plates all over the counter, cans of marmalades and some veggies.

“Oh, a friend is coming over for Christmas dinner, it’s no big deal. He’ll help” with the naturalness that I’ve said it I could’ve sworn Hobie had a thousand more questions but for one or no reason at all, he didn’t ask.  
“That’s very nice of you, I can leave all in your hands” He looked at me fondly and it felt right. Hobie was old and needed rest once in a while, that wasn’t the reason why I had invited Boris but the fact that this could erase some weight off Hobie’s shoulders, then it was worth even more.  
*  
The actual day had arrived an as soon as I expected Boris to show up at the door (I had given him the address through messages) he did, with a bottle of wine and again, a long black coat.

“Potter”

“Boris”

“It doesn’t smell like Christmas around here,” he said stepping in, taking off his coat which I took care of.  
“What do you mean,” I said in a relaxed tone

“The dinner, the candles and all that”  
“I told you I am not fond of Christmas and you said the exact same thing”

“Well yes but I expected you to be lying and having a Christmas tree somewhere, or teeny-tiny elf family in your window, even some presents!”  
I rolled my eyes and replied, knowing well enough this was my fault, my idea, all on me.

“I do have a Christmas tree, is right there,” I said pointing out the lifeless tree, it was true that Hobie and I didn’t do any decoration this year, we didn’t try.

“But that tree looks so lonely, let’s give it a makeover”

“Did you just say makeover” 

“Well decorate it, change the perspective, getting in the mood. I’m not festive you were right, but seeing that dead tree now makes me feel a little bit sad”   
I knew he was all talk, but with this, I felt he was being genuine, we didn’t have a tree back in Las Vegas, and I guessed that Boris never had one either. I felt, deep inside me a blow of nostalgia for something that we never had. And it occurred to me that in that very moment, with our dinner and decorations, maybe we were trying to fill a void, we had each other and the circumstances were favorable so why refuse, why did I have to run away?

*  
By 4 pm we were decorating the tree and Hobie hadn’t returned from his lunch, when he left, with a note on the fridge he had said he would come back by 3 pm, but thus far he hadn’t shown up, I was relieved in a way, I didn’t know how to make Boris and Hobie like each other and the mere thought of having to share a table with both of them was awkward.  
I decided to ignore that matter and focus on the actual dinner, the tree was full of red and white motifs I found on the old box Hobie kept in his closet and the hard work was actually put on the lights, (As it was a decent-sized tree, we had to maneuver ourselves and the lights in order to succeed, Boris was on his tiptoes, while I corroborated the angle and gave him directions- “Move the little bell to the center, there’s a spot-“ “That’s what I’m doing here Potter”)

“We need to start with dinner if we want to eat at 7…”   
he looked at me and nodded, while I walked to the kitchen, getting the things ready, he followed in comfortable silence.  
The truth was that we hadn’t shared a kitchen in so long, we hadn’t cooked for each other either (the canned soup in Antwerp did not count but I somehow appreciated it as such) so it was indeed new territory. Boris was very helpful, nothing like his young self. This time we followed the recipe I chose for vegan turkey, then the side dishes and the dessert which included almond milk, at this Boris went “You know that I can eat meat and stuff, right?” I just brushed him off and proceeded with the preparations.   
I lost the sense of time, Boris and I really put effort in cooking while chatting affably, waiting for the timer to go off and me helping to get the cups from the highest shelf then handing them to Boris just to be rewarded with a tiny but sincere smile, that said: “please don’t tease me”.

*  
I don’t exactly know how but we finished cooking and the kitchen was clean, Boris did not complain and helped in a very efficient way. I was surprised and in awe at our achievement that I didn’t notice Boris's gaze on me. I was deep in my thoughts, some of them involved my mother and me, getting ready for dinner when I was only a child. Then Boris's voice brought me back.

“Theo,” he said, that made me react way quicker than I would have, then I looked at him.

“Hmm”

“I said that we should get the plates and the glasses to the table now that they’re clean”

“Oh sure” but I didn’t move quite so fast, I rather stood there, coming into a realization, that somehow Boris was here, in my place, the dinner ready, waiting for Hobie, the peppermint candle in the hall, and some fragmented memories of my mother dressed in a yellow turtle neck, her sleeves rolled up while doing the dishes.  
At that moment I was yearning for some emotion, in that comforting silence and coziness that envolved me, us.  
I felt Boris’s hand on my shoulder, reassuring keeping me in place, if my thoughts were far away at least physically I was ankled to this very moment, next to Boris. He was murmuring some words in Russian that I did not bother to catch up let alone try to translate, his hand was now tracing small patterns in my shoulder, almost descending to my arm.  
“Look at me,” he said, his hand away, I was dreading the lost contact. I did look at him, his face, as pale as always, black eyes fixed on me, young and ancient all at once.

“It’s okay Theo, we have each other”

I knew he meant it, because I meant it too, the invitation, the dinner, the decorations, the coffee, the wine, the painting.  
Before I could say anything, we heard the door opening; Hobie was home.  
*  
Contrary to all my beliefs, it all went pretty good. Hobie was nice enough to not ask many questions, although he knew well enough who Boris was ( he saw him at the engagement party), he made no comments regarding Boris’s job or such. He complimented our food and what he called our “teamwork” (Boris looked at me as if saying “heard that eh?”).  
Boris, on the other hand, made the conversation flow so nicely that I was surprised at how charming he could be, I can’t say Hobie loved him, but for sure, he did not hate his presence at all.

*  
The dinner was over and Hobie went upstairs with a cup of tea while Boris and I cleaned the remaining mess. It was late, as we spent most of the time talking and less of it eating, I supposed I had to say goodbye to Boris soon, the night was over and so was Christmas eve.  
He was cleaning the dishes when I approached him, the dim light of the kitchen enhanced his features and I very much liked that sight.  
“Thank you so much for coming, for helping and sharing this time with us”  
At this, he startled and turned to look at me. I catch the glimpse of a piece of hair falling before his eyes.

“My pleasure,” he said in a funny voice, then he shook his head and continued, more serious. 

“You are very lonely, Potter.”  
How was I supposed to deny that, he saw through me? I said nothing, thus he went on.

“I am too, very lonely.” We stood by the kitchen, close distance and the light was so weak, our shadows were almost dancing. He was truthful, his eyes sincere.

“If only you…” at this he stopped and looked at me in the eye, I held his gaze, even though my heart was pounding and I knew what was coming.

“Come with me, Russia, Belgium, Mexico I don’t care” his voice was full of something I could only target as passion. I said nothing.

“We are the same, the ugly stays in the past. I have a good life and I promise I- won’t run away.” I was startled at this and it seemed like he was closer to me, too.

“But only if you promise the same, don’t run away”   
What happened next was all messy and desperate. I held his face with both my hands and kissed him in an almost violent motion. He returned the kiss with the same intensity and then, reality covered me and I ended the kiss.  
He was dumbfounded at my reaction and so was I. The room filled with a tension that was palpable. I put some distance and finished cleaning the table. He followed my every movement as if I was about to run away or jump out of the window. I did not. But metaphorically, I kind of did.  
“You know I can’t,” I said when the silence was eating us alive. 

“But you want to” he replied, the same passion in his voice.

“Yes,” I said almost like a murmur. “But I can’t and that’s beyond me” I didn’t know what I was saying, I only knew that it was the right thing to do, my head was hurting so much, Boris noticed and said nothing.   
He walked out of the kitchen and I knew he was getting his coat and then, sooner that I could think of, he would leave. Forever, maybe. The simple thought was tiring and sad. Like grief.  
I followed him and in fact, his coat on, getting a cigarette.  
“I will call Gyuri” he said, voice empty.  
“That’s okay,” I said.

*  
About fifteen minutes later Gyuri was there, waiting for him. I accompanied him out, as it was late and cold. We did not say a thing, not until he saw Gyuri’s car and turned one last time to see me, as some twisted and sad deja vu moment, I said “take care” and he nodded to finally say, with sorrow in his voice;

“We are very lonely people”  
And he left.

*  
The next morning I woke up with a headache and an onerous feeling in my chest. Not knowing what to do I lied there, waiting for a revelation of some sort, maybe a text from Boris, a call.  
I knew that it was my fault, that dismissing him twice was entirely on me. But deep inside me a little light of hope existed, that maybe, Boris, as adventurous as he was, would come for me and ask one more time. Perhaps in five years, we would reunite. And after some drinks and small talk, I could show him my bare heart, mon semblable, mon frére…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you like it?   
the french at the end is a.... some intratextuality from on eof my fav poems "pademica y celeste" to "The wasteland" to the original a french that i do not remeber was it Mallarmé or Verlaine?   
Anyway, leave a comment and let me know!   
or yell at me on twitter @boreoloveclub  
or tumblr @poeticboreo
> 
> Happy new year little boreo's (?)

**Author's Note:**

> I´m sorry if this is poorly edited, it was the only time I had to post this, so!  
Also, the title... is from one of my favorite poems of Federico Garcia Lorca who visited New York and wrote amazing poems inspired by the city. The title is-ironic-since the poem isn't Christmas-sy at all but my fic IS. anyway. Comments and Kuddos are always appreciated, thank you
> 
> yell at me on twt @boreoloveclub  
tumblr @poeticboreo


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